


Two-Tribes

by Damceon



Series: Character Backstories [2]
Category: Gamer Fiction
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:54:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23255029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damceon/pseuds/Damceon
Series: Character Backstories [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672036





	Two-Tribes

Nakeri Haresh

The ways of his people had prepared him, the ways of the Shou’Hoji. Now, by the light of a full winter moon, a man-child of fifteen winters stood naked before their shaman, “Singer to the god-places.” Ookukush-Ponult raised his weathered hands, his voice crawling from his throat in a rasp that recalled wind through dry grasses.

“Great Mother Wolf, Daughter of Moon and Sun, take this child to the wild places and test him.” Ookukush hefted his gnarled staff, beads clinking against wood and bones as feathers and tassels of fur and hair fluttered wildly with his movements. “If this child is worthy as one born of the Shou’Hoji, your people, then witness his strength to return to the Shou’Hoji. If this child is not worthy, then may this sacrifice serve you well.”

With that, Ookukush brought his staff down sharply, striking a heavy blow across the man-child’s breast. Barbs of bone and wood bit into flesh and the man-child shuddered in the cold as blood oozed from a dozen tiny wounds. In moments, the toxin seized hold, burning in the man-child’s veins and tearing at his senses.

The world twisted upon itself as the ritual poison created spectacular hallucinations in the man-child’s eyes. Shards of ice and fire tore through his body, blurring his already crazed visions. Amid the torrential pain, the man-child was dimly aware of many hands, far more than he had seen around him, pulling, grabbing, pushing and prodding at him.

Voices seemed to rush at him from the darkness, multiplying to deafening thunder before scattering like leaves in the wind. He clenched his fists and swallowed hard, squeezing his eyes shut to block out the dizzying maze that assaulted his senses. He felt like he was falling…

Then he was running, as though waking from a dream, he found his body moved as if possessed. Looking forward, he saw no quarry. Looking back, he saw no monstrous pursuer. Slowing to a walk, the man-child found his surroundings unfamiliar. Certainly he was still near the camp, wasn’t he? No. The camp had been straddling a creek just within bowshot of where the ritual had taken place.

The full moon’s light seemed darker, the landscape shrouded in larger, deeper shadows. Full moon? Looking to the sky, he could see the waning gibbous. How long had he been running?

He estimated it had been nearly four days and was now approaching middle night. A rock outcropping to the north provided a sense of stability and direction as he shook himself loose of the final strands of the ritual poison. The night chill made him painfully aware of his nakedness. In the darkness were the sounds of the wild, nocturnal creatures and beasts of the plains’ winter. His toes were bitterly cold, frozen grass and clumps of snow sticking to his feet. Looking back the way he’d run, the man-child guessed that his camp, if it remained to this night by the river, would be four days to the southeast. It was too far to travel now and he dared not return, naked as a babe the day he was first born. Those who returned so were shunned, the “twice-born,” unable to feed and care for themselves and crawling back as beggars to their people. The man-child set his jaw and turned toward the rocks, for there he might find adequate shelter for the night’s remainder. He became aware of his body, as if for the first time in his life, and the searing ache of his maddened exertion as well as a deep thirst and ravenous hunger.

Within the deepest crags of the jutting stones he found a cave that smelled of ashes and old blood, a resting place during storms for a tribe he did not know, or else some long-dead kin’s burial tomb. Speaking aloud, he announced himself as a man-child of the Shou’Hoji seeking shelter. With only the cave’s silent acquiescence, the man-child huddled down into the dust and ashes and slept, hoping he did not offend the spirits of this place.

Sunlight pierced the cracks and jags in the stone, the wind moaning balefully overhead as the man-child woke to aching muscles and fervent hunger. He could see a well-used firepit, stubs of charcoal and remnants of burnt herbs and incense. He did not know what these meant, but his belly urged him to leave the cave in search of water and food. The morning air was cold, the sun hesitant to bless the land with life-giving heat, and as the man-child emerged from the ashen den he found the jutting stones surrounded by tents of another tribe.

He knew their ways, he realized, he’d seen people of this tribe before. During a raid, a few of their warriors had stolen mounts and children from the Shou’Hoji. They were people of a similar tongue, he could understand many of their words and manners, perhaps a distant cousin of the Shou’Hoji or near relative of the Dihrzan. Whatever their names, he knew them as an enemy of the Shou’Hoji.

…

“Some tribes keep with spirits in stone places, treating with gods who live in one home rather than roaming spirits and the ever-changing moon.” His mother had told him, so long ago. The memory reached back into a life that was gone, the life of a man-child. He would be a once-born, now. He was a warrior surrounded by his enemy. He was weakened, exhausted and hungry, but he would not let them see it.

…

Standing high atop the jutting stones, the man-child summoned all his pain and hunger, fear and rage into a single howl. The natural acoustics of the rocks amplified and warped his voice, turning the desperate cry into a terrible wail of fury.

The caked ashes and dirt on his skin and tangled, matted hair on his head hid his humanity in the early light, the sun offering its support with cold rays that cast his shadow to the furthest tent in a silhouette that made even the most staunch veteran wary.

The resultant clamor in the camp below was more than he could’ve hoped or feared as the tribal shaman was hurriedly brought forth. Something in the mystic’s body language made the man-child cautious, a secret waiting to be told up close with a venomous blade.

With a platter of food and valuables, the shaman clambered up the craggy rocks to stand before the “god of the stones” that had appeared the morning of their arrival. Many tribesmen and women found it curious that the god had come out so soon, for normally the god would only venture forth when the shaman had time to commune with the spirits. If nothing else, the god seemed more angular, angrier in their eyes.

Indeed, the man-child was furious. He’d seen the truth in the fire pit and discarded bits of charcoal and, even where he now stood, evidence of a lie used to placate this tribe. If any shaman could be so foolish… but the man-child would use this secret to keep his own.

“You honor us, god of the stone places!” The shaman’s voice was loud and firm, but the man-child saw the carefully contained rage and fear in his eyes. If any warriors were to kill the man-child, there might be questions… questions the shaman could not answer.

“Two lies; two lives, old man.” The man-child growled softly, using words of respect that his voice turned like a vicious knife. “Betray me, and you die on these rocks.”

The shaman bit his tongue, nodding slowly.

“What do you want?” The mystic asked, after a hateful pause.

“Clothes, old man.” The man-child scooped a piece of meat from the platter still clutched in the holy man’s shaking hands.

“The god demands fine furs!” The ancient bellowed, his voice threatening to crack in his fury.

A few of the tribeswomen bustled to gather the demanded tribute. The sun crested the rocks and the man-child was garbed in the tribe’s finest furs and had sated his hunger and thirst on their offerings. He took the shaman by the arm and descended back into the stone den to wait for nightfall. In the waning moonlight, the man-child escaped the jutting stones and left the wretched shaman to suffer the wrath of his own people. The gods were not known for blessing the weak.

…

Two days the man-child followed his own cold tracks, weaving across the plains southeast toward the riverside camping place. Roots and grasses washed down with melted ice kept the man-child going. A small herd of antelope crossed his path, wary of his presence. He knew he could kill one if he had a spear, or even a knife, but he had none.

…

The cold trail of his tribe was more than six nights old by the time he found the old site. Something had trampled the grass after the tribe had left… something or someone. Tightening the furs on his feet, the man-child pulled his makeshift cloak close and followed the now-broader trail. Leagues slipped by under the man-child’s feet, his fervor driving him beyond his twitching hunger. As he chased his tribe, he discerned the tracks of fast-moving horsemen. Perhaps fifty or more, he wondered what tribe would send such raiders on his people’s heels. That might be why they’d left, if it hadn’t been time for them to leave.

That night brought a procession of horsemen towing captives, walking a track back down the cold path. The man-child hid beyond their torchlight, eyeing his captive tribesmen and their captors. The headman was a burly mercenary of a city-dwelling slaver caste. Melting through the shadows, the man-child breathed at the ground to hide the clouds of his breath as he shuffled silently closer.

“Hoji walks with us.” One captive grunted softly as the man-child slid by.

A gruff reproach and a booted foot silenced the man-child’s kinsman. The captives remained silent, but their muscles flexed and relaxed in preparation of a new battle.

Making his way to the headman’s horse, the man-child paced the animal, slipping underneath it to gently loosen the straps of the saddle. Then, he shifted left and right beneath the horse, stealing glances at his prey for weaknesses. A boot knife in the top of the headman’s right boot proved and auspicious sign as the man-child tapped the man’s left heel sharply.

Reining his horse, the mercenary looked down to his left and back over his shoulder. Shouts of alarm from his companions warned him too late as the man-child stood to his right and drew the mercenary’s own knife and drove the blade into the man’s belly. With a hissing grunt, the slaver backhanded the savage man-child and reached down to draw his sword, but the man-child proved faster still. Spinning with the force of the blow, the man-child raised his leg and caught the lodged knife behind his ankle, plunging the blade deeper than the pommel in the man’s gut and dragging the slaver from his saddle. The headman’s eyes bulged as his grip slackened on his sword, the knifepoint poking out through his back. Blood frothed from his lips as he toppled backward to the ground. The horse, now startled, bolted into the darkness.

Sweeping up the strange, longer blade of a short sword, the man-child readied himself for the next horseman. The Shou’Hoji captives pulled at their restraints, some were hewn down while others plucked their captors from their horses and tore at them with their bare hands. A short-spear passed before the man-child’s face as he sidestepped a charging slaver. Weaving left and right, the man-child struck at the rider with rapid thrusts of his sword. The viper jabs found only marking blows as the slaver whipped his spear around to ward off his foe. Pain burned through the man-child’s body as the spear grazed his right arm above the elbow. The shock caused him to drop his sword, though he recovered quickly and grabbed the haft of the slaver’s spear, pulling in a feint.

As the slaver pulled to counter the man-child, the man-child pushed furiously and heaved the slaver from his horse. Before the grounded fighter could right himself, the man-child reversed his grip on the spear and thrust the point into the slaver’s chest.

An arrow lanced through the man-child’s forearm, tugging him around to face a horse-bound archer galloping away as a great black shape loped through the darkness. Snapping the feathered tail from the arrow, the man-child pulled at the arrowhead to remove the offending shaft in his arm. A scream from the direction of his unseen foe revealed the last of the freed Shou’Hoji being torn apart by the dark figure.

A small fire started around a fallen torch, casting horrific shadows on the beast’s face. It stood as a man, though hunched and twisted, and its eyes shone with red fire while its jaws dripped with the blood of its victims… a rugged hide, like that of a boar, and a snout like a dog, with skin and hair black as pitch. The man-child could not understand why a god or demon would join the slavers, nor could he think of a way to kill such a being.

“If I must prove myself in death, so be it.” He growled, grunting as he threw the short-spear. The heavy-hafted spear dug into the beast-god’s shoulder, wagging wildly in the muscular body. Seeming to view the spear as little more than passing irritation, the beast-god brushed the barb from its body, the tear of flesh and fine trail of blood just within notice of the man-child.

He’d hear stories of such creatures, indeed his tribe claimed kinship to an ancestor wolf-god child, but he’d never before seen one. The creature charged, it’s eyes sparkling blood red in the small light of the fading brush fire. The man-child crouched, swallowing fear and tiredness, gliding his hand through the grass to touch on the sword hilt of the blade he’d dropped.

“You will remember the Shou’Hoji, demon.” He snarled, goading himself to match the beast’s fury. “You will remember the once-born that marks you!”

He could see, now that they were so near each other, deeper wounds and many on the beast-god’s hide, still fresh from the fight. Shoji and her people had smiled on the man-child this night; his slain brothers and sisters had purchased him a chance at victory with their lives.

The two met, the man-child leaping up to meet the beast-god as the creature dove to smother and rend. Mighty jaws cam down on his right shoulder, tearing flesh and snapping bone, and the man-child’s arm went numb and limp. Something in his left hand forced him away from blind pain, the hilt of a foreign sword whose blade had found purchase in the beast-god’s neck. His strength was failing, his body weak against the crushing weight of the strangled beast-god, but he pushed the blade deeper until it would move no more. With a twist of his hand, he heard a wet pop and the grating of steel on bone. The beast-god’s eyes rolled back, its body slumping dead on the man-child.

Relieved… spent… the man-child lay dying, his breath ragged under the hulking form of his dead foe. Though he knew his victory was hard-won, he imagined his people finding this battle and his body beneath his enemy; he smiled.

They would sing him to the ancestors, the beast-god’s bane, the nameless once-born that felled a mighty foe. He laughed, a choked gurgle that no longer pained him as he died, and spoke to his people as the morning sun chased the dancing shadows in his eyes.

“I am the nameless once-born, Shou’Hoji.” He choked, frost in his hair and crusting on his wounds. “I have done a thing, this night. I have slain a beast-god and paid life for life. I am a spirit of the wild, as I am meant to be.”

To his amazement, a voice answered the man-child’s words, cutting through the shadows of his people that danced in the rays of the dawning sun. It was a clear voice that spoke a strange tongue and he could not move himself to see its source. The voice came to him again, a question he did not understand. For all his wounds, the pain he felt most was a small stone wedged against his back and the slaver’s sword hilt pressed to his belly. Again he heard the question, less certain this time.

“What one comes to sing me to my ancestors?” He asked, forcing his words through the pain… forcing himself to stay awake.

A shadow blocked the cool sunlight, wreathing a dark form in morning fire. He breathed out, thinking his breath might bring the figure closer. In the man-child’s pained and weakened mind, he saw one of Shoji’s children come to take him back to the wild places. She was a vision of wild beauty, with hair like hawk feathers and eyes that pierced the soul. Her hand touched his face as she spoke but she was strangely silent. Her mouth moved and the man-child’s mind filled with images that made a question he could understand.

_Who are you?_

He struggled to speak, but found his voice lacking. He coughed, wincing, and tried again to say the name of his people.

_I hear your words, Shou’Hoji, People of the Plains Wolf._

The god’s eyes blinked and he felt as though she had taken a part of him with her eyes.

_Tell me why you are here._

He spoke the words, but no sound came. He spoke anyway, heedless that his voice was gone, needing only to look into those consuming eyes.

His story was a long one, from his first memory to that very morning fifteen winters after his birth, but the god was patient as the sun crawled through the sky. At one time, her face was hidden in shadow, and the man-child balked. He longed to see her, touch her and feel something other than his looming death. The man-child was suddenly afraid to die without being able to be closer to this god that listened to his story. She’d shifted so that he could see her again and her laughter rippled through his mind.

_You are a man._ And a stream of incomprehensible images flooded his mind.

_Say more of your story._

…

Night descended as he finished the telling, recounting his dazed words to his people and hearing her voice.

_It was not a beast-god or demon._ She shook her head. The man-child’s question formed on his lips from a silent tongue. She answered.

_A mortal twisted by magic. You are strong to be alive._

“You honor me, lord.” The man-child’s smile was genuine but weak.

_You have no name?_

“None but that I have done since my trial.”

_A fox’s cleverness, a serpent’s stealth, a wolf’s ferocity, an eagle’s swiftness, a bear’s strength, and a boar’s endurance._ She reported of his deeds.

_You are the Spirits of the Wild Places made Flesh._

“Made spirit again as I die, lord.”

_If you do not die?_

For the first time since he’d seen the beast-god the night before, the man-child doubted his certain death.

_Your name is chosen, Spirits of the Wild Places made Flesh._

The man-child nodded, his eyes wide with awe.

_How is your name called in your tongue?_

“Nakeri Haresh.”

_You are Nakeri Haresh. Do you accept my help?_

“I cannot live if I do not. I accept.”

Nakeri’s world disappeared before his eyes, drowned in a sea of pain… then nothingness.

…

When Nakeri-Haresh woke, he did so with the realization that his nightmare had been more than a dream and less than real. His wounds were dressed and bound, a splint cradling his still-numb right arm. Through the gray fog that rolled in his mind, Nakeri-Haresh could sense vaguely his new world as a man. Meat was being roasted over a fire, the rich scent of burned herbs mingling with the meat and the sound of wild things beyond the enclosure punctuated by the crackling hiss of fat in the flames.

Perhaps it was the newness he felt when he looked through the small cave or the hurt of his wounds clouded by a haze of herbs, but he did not realize he was closely attended until a slender, strong hand reached up from his right side to touch his face.  
  
_You are better?_

Nakeri-Haresh used his left hand to touch the god’s hand.

“Why do you help me, lord?”

_Must I explain myself to what is mine?_

The images were confusing, answered by Nakeri-Haresh’s own confusion. He owed this god his life, a debt he intended to pay (before returning to his people, if possible), but there were the image-words he didn’t understand: laughter, struggling, and a strange sense of completion.

“Am I your slave? Do you keep me in life-debt?”

_Foolish new-man, what do you know of a god’s ways?_

“Nothing, lord.”

_As we are, alone, you call me by a name._

“What name, lord?”

_Grace of the Moonbeams Dancing over Lost Waters. How do you call (that) in your tongue?_

Nakeri-Haresh thought a moment, finding himself distracted by her eyes. Her face hardened and Nakeri-Haresh realized he’d been gaping at his god-savior.

“Forgive me, lord.” He forced himself to look away, longing to lock gazes with her again, to lose whatever she kept taking with her eyes.

_How do you call (that)?_

“The Shou’Hoji would say: Kaou’na-Fahallera-Ehonota.”

_I am not angry, Nakeri-Haresh. You are pulled to me because you are a man._

“Forgive me, lord. Your beauty weakens me.”

_You forget your lord’s words; call me by name._

“Forgive me…” the god took her hand away and listened. “Kaou’na-Fahallera-Ehonota…”

Nakeri-Haresh’s eyes went wide in amazement at hearing his voice all the more because he’d dared to speak a god’s name without the rituals a shaman must perform to be permitted to call a god by name. Her laughter and sparkling eyes caught his fear and swallowed it, leaving him free to smile back at her without completely understanding.

_Sleep._ Kaou’na touched Nakeri’s face again. _You may sleep in this house. I will watch over you._

But Nakeri did not sleep, instead staring into her eyes and becoming consumed. He fell into them, noting the glitter of light in them like the full moon.  
  
He lay staring into the night sky, his body naked in the winter air but he felt oddly warm, the full moon beating down to the rhythm of thundering hooves. The moon waned, never shifting its hold of the heavens as it faded to a sliver-crescent and then to a black new moon. Nakeri heard movement, felt the pulse of the nocturnal cycle around him as he watched the moon open its crescent eye to wax again, growing to a half-lidded moon and then the gibbous. As the moon reached full again, his arm began tingling, his eyes blinked and he was awake again.

Kaou’na was removing the bindings on Nakeri’s right arm, prodding and massaging the lax flesh of his hand.

“Do you feel this?” She asked, her voice thick with a strange accent.

“I do, lord.” A stern glance and he corrected himself, “I do, Kaou’na-Fahallera-Ehonota.”

“Kaou’na will be enough.” She smiled, pinching his hand until he winced. “Your arm is mended.”

“Kaou’na, you bless me with strong magics to cure me in one night.” Nakeri sat up, wiggling his fingers and staring at his arm.

“You slept in a fever for three days. I kept you asleep after you named me so you could heal. You wake now two moons after your trial began.”

“Two moons?!” Nakeri was amazed… and very hungry. “They will think me dead. How shall I return to them?”

“As a living man.”

“How do you come to speak the tongue of the Shou’Hoji?” Nakeri suddenly wondered, newly amazed by his god-savior.

“Am I not a god?”

“Yes, Kaou’na. Forgive me.” Nakeri hung his head, expecting a stout blow. None landed.

“For now, Nakeri, you are mine. I will demand of you and deal with you as I see fit.”

“Yes, Kaou’na.”

“Come, dress yourself and make ready to hunt. You must be hungry.”

“Yes, Kaou’na.” Nakeri answered, moving to quickly obey his god.

…

“You never hunted before?”

“Only from afar, before my trial.”

“You hunt well, Nakeri. Better than some hunters many seasons more tested.”

“I am honored that you approve.” Nakeri nodded, hefting the kill to return to Kaou’na’s dwelling.

“You will meet Do’djun tonight, Nakeri. He has wanted to meet you.”

“Yes, Kaou’na.”

“There is a fate about you, Nakeri-Haresh, but I do not know what.”

“Fate, Kaou’na?”

“I do not see the threads of it. Do not ask more on the matter.”

“Yes, Kaou’na.”

…

“Do’djun is here, come outside.”

“Yes, Kaou’na.”

The massive wolf stood only a dozen strides from the entry to Kaou’na’s dwelling. Had Nakeri not witnessed Kaou’na speaking with animals before, he would’ve been more shocked by the beast.

“Nakeri-Haresh, kneel before Do’djun, the Black Wolf.”

Nakeri did as instructed, his eyes fixed on a point just before him on the ground. He felt the air tremble, he heard Do’djun sigh as the man stepped toward him. Man? Wolf? Do’djun must be another god, but why would Kaou’na want to show Nakeri to another god? Why did this god want to see him?

Do’djun spoke, his voice like the growl of a pack of wolves. Nakeri did not know Do’djun’s words, but his body answered by moving to stand, forcing his eyes to meet this new god’s cold appraisal.

With agonizing slowness, Do’djun studied the man-pup Nakeri, his coal-black eyes stabbing into the mortal-blood’s very essence. Nakeri wanted to scream, flee in terror, strike out Do’djun’s measuring eyes, anything than stand under that callous scrutiny.

After an eternity, Do’djun stepped back and sniffed dismissively. Nakeri felt his body crumple to the ground as a tortoise dropped on its back. He lay motionless as Do’djun spoke words he could not understand.

…

“He has a fated stink on him.” Do’djun did nothing to hide his contempt for the mortal. Mortals had only fleeting purpose in Do’djun’s schemes.

“I know, Do’djun.”

“Many do, but it means little.” The Black Wolf’s eyes turned to Kaou’na, offering her the same impassive gaze that was previously fixed on Nakeri. “Why do you keep him? Do you dare to shape the way of things?”

“Dying men have an honest way about them. More so when they are becoming men.” Kaou’na’s eyes focused on something only she could see just beyond Do’djun.  
  
“You fancy him?” Do’djun’s disgust was made sharp by his amusement. “Ha! He is mortal-blooded.”

“He has the fated scent.” Kaou’na’s stare came to rest on Nakeri, who lay helpless at Do’djun’s feet.

“Yes.” Do’djun nodded, his voice harsh and threatening. “It could mean he will die by your hands, or the hands of your enemies. I could crush him now and fulfill his doom.”

“But then you would interfere.” Kaou’na looked at Do’djun, hoping the Black Wolf could not see the concealed anger in her eyes.

“Would I?” Do’djun smirked, admiring Kaou’na’s audacity to presume the Black Wolf’s mind. “Yes, perhaps. You are right to wonder, but do not keep him long. Others may come looking for him.”

“He has a strong spark… stronger than most.” Kaou’na looked down at Nakeri, again.  
  
“Not as strong as many. But I agree it is stronger than many mortal-bloods.” Do’djun’s voice softened. Kaou’na had always had a way of finding powerful beings.

“And he bears the markings of battle, I did not help him for a full day as he lay beneath his foe.” The placating tone in Kaou’na’s voice caused Do’djun to feel somehow slighted. Why should she be so taken with this mortal?

“Yes, he is stronger than some.” Do’djun nodded, the stony edge of contempt creeping back into his throat.

“He might Become.” Kaou’na’s eyes looked into the distance again.  
  
“You hunt in dangerous lands.” Do’djun turned on his heel and would say no more.

…

Kaou’na’s hand touched Nakeri as he lay at Do’djun’s feet.

_Go inside, Nakeri-Haresh._

With a shaking sigh, Nakeri crawled to his feet and staggered inside, slumping down on the sleeping furs as Do’djun’s voice thundered in his ears again.

…

A time came when Kaou’na woke Nakeri in the night, a strange burning in her skin. Her eyes shone with a hunger that Nakeri shared but did not fully understand. On a mid-spring night, as two spirits of the wild, Nakeri learned of the joining of flesh and the ways of mating. As morning broke and Nakeri rose from sleep, he found Kaou’na was gone. Only the furs and simple things he’d made for his own remained. His god had left him to the wild places, and he wondered if maybe he had dreamed the whole of his life to this day. He felt the hollow in his spirit; the emptiness that was left after Kaou’na had taken a piece of his soul in her eyes. Perhaps this moment was the dream, and perhaps it was simply time to move on.

The rich howl of a wolf cracked the still silence of Nakeri’s awakening. Answering cries swept into the cave as Nakeri dressed himself. A pack had stumbled upon something nearby, he guessed. Stepping out of Kaou’na’s stone dwelling, Nakeri found his exit surrounded by beasts, wolfish and wild, some akin to stories of Shoji Herself while others recalled the terrible beast-man he’d slain near three moons past.

A large wolf loped forward, scarred muzzle and brown coat tinted gray with many years describing a leader of beasts. Nakeri stood unafraid before the great wolf, his hands loose and ready to draw his bone knife or axe if the wolf attacked.  
  
The terrible splendor of the gods that Nakeri had faced had steeled him for this moment, and he offered Kaou’na his silent thanks for it. With feral intensity, the wolf circled Nakeri, sniffing at the strange trespasser in his domain. The god’s dwelling was empty, it knew, and this man-spirit did not belong there. At length, it backed away, turning left and right with teeth bared, posturing a challenge.  
  
Nakeri understood this: that this lord-beast offered him a choice… to win his place or die as less than a man. Stripping to the waist, Nakeri drew his knife and bared his teeth, stalking left and right to mirror the challenge. He then raised his voice to the pack.  
  
“I am Shou’Hoji, Nakeri-Haresh, once-born man!” He shouted, still pacing his challenge. “Four moons my trial and I am still alive, Spirits of the Wild Places made Flesh! I accept your challenge… to walk among you… to walk as one of you!”  
  
With that, the duel began, man and wolf circling slowly and deliberately. Around and around, Nakeri stared into the wolf’s eyes as he kept his body moving smoothly. The wolf met his gaze unblinking, watching every ripple of naked flesh betray the man’s movements before they happened. Nakeri watched the wolf’s eyes, knowing it could see his moves, knowing he had tempted a wolf with his throat. It was a gamble he had to make, to show he was that much stronger, more worthy of his opponent. With a feint, the wolf darted in, drawing Nakeri in the wrong direction before knocking the man to the ground in a heave of its massive body. Before Nakeri could regain his feet, the wolf towered over him, great fangs in large jaws biting down on his feebly warding arm.

Too late, the wolf realized the man’s hidden speed. The warding arm was shielded by sharpened bone that bit deep between the wolf’s teeth. Nakeri reached up with his free hand to touch the wolf’s face.  
  
“You would be blind and lame, while I lived.” Nakeri snarled, the blood of the great wolf dripping from its jaws to mingle with the blood oozing from his arm before spattering on his bare chest.  
  
They looked at each other, eyes understanding as Nakeri released his knife and the wolf backed away. Standing, Nakeri looked around at his pack, a new tribe to which he belonged.

…

Among the Shoji-Shou (Children of the Great Wolf Mother), Nakeri prospered. He learned their ways and their language. He hunted with them, crafted shelters in times of great storms, and even offered prayers and sacrifices to gods and spirits on their behalf. His seventeenth winter passed as he lived with his wild brothers, but the pack leader was growing old. Some suggested he vie for leadership, strike down and drive out the aging wolf, while others told him their plans. One, a wild spirit that Nakeri had named Tehontonta-Shoji (Brother by Blood under the Great Wolf Mother), asked to learn the ways of dealing with the gods as Nakeri did.

_Nakeri-Haresh leave one day?_ The question came not in words that a man could speak, but in a language all the same.

_Yes._

_Show I god-ways?_

_Yes._

_Call I Nakeri-Haresh?_

_No._

_Call I?_

_My Brother by Blood under the Great Wolf Mother._

_Call I (_ that _)._

…

In the spring, Nakeri came before the great wolf, not in challenge but in parting.

_Nakeri-Haresh leave Shoji-Shou._ Nakeri’s body moved to shape the meaning, his voice growling and huffing.  
  
_Nakeri-Haresh is Shoji-Shou._ The great wolf shook his head.

_Nakeri-Haresh is Shou’Hoji._ Nakeri straightened after “speaking”.

_Nakeri-Haresh (_ both _). Nakeri-Haresh strong._ The pack took up the great wolf’s howl.  
  
_Nakeri-Haresh, hunt for (_ both _), remembered by (_ both _)._ They cried in unison.  
  
_Nakeri-Haresh leave._ And the great wolf turned away.

 _Nakeri-Haresh leave._ Nakeri-Haresh left.

Tehontonta-Shoji followed him.

_Brother?_

_Yes._

_Run with Brother, I?_ The wolf’s request was something Nakeri would not refuse.

_You want?_

_Yes._

_Run with I._ And Tehontona-Shoji stayed with him.

…

In the late winter, his eighteenth year, Nakeri-Haresh found the paths of his people. He walked among them unseen, left to be as a spirit of the wild places. It was not until he placed himself before Ookukush-Ponult and stood to trade words that he was taken for a man.

“Ookukush-Ponult, speaker to the gods of the Shou’Hoji, hear me.”

“I see before me a thing which speaks as a man.” Ookukush cried out, drawing attention from the camp.

Tribesfolk gathered to watch the exchange, many with their hands resting on weapons. This outsider had passed among them without announcing himself. Something that could escape their sentries was a danger that must be carefully weighed.

“If you are a man, what name have you?” Ookukush demanded, jabbing a bony finger in Nakeri’s direction.

“Of the Shou’Hoji, I am Nakeri-Haresh.” Nakeri stated firmly, drawing back his furs and laying bare his chest to show the tiny scars he remembered from two winters past. “I return from the wild places, kin to them and ready to join my people.”

“I do not know this.” Ookukush wagged his head; studying the markings only the Shou’Hoji knew to see. “None have gone so long to return as you say. What tribute do you offer? Or are you twice-born?”

Nakeri was enraged at this and, to show his disproval, he struck the Shou’Hoji shaman open-handed across the face.

“I am as I say and more, brother!” Nakeri bellowed, his voice so fierce that the warriors did not move to attack him for striking their holy man. “You will hear me when I have paid a life for striking you.”

…

So it was that he was in a dueling circle, naked to the waist with only his bone knife to speak for him. A Shou’Hoji warrior, elder to Nakeri in years if not in skill, stood across from him, spear in hand and long knife on his belt.

“Shall you die again, twice-born?” He goaded. The warrior sought to increase his standing in the tribe by humiliating the outsider in the duel… and then torturing him to death for his crime.  
  
Nakeri turned at the waist, his eyes meeting the savage glare of Ookukush as he spoke to the wrinkled old man.

“Ookukush-Ponult, Nakeri-Haresh speaks to his equals and betters in combat. Send one more worthy.”

The Shou’Hoji dueler screamed with fury and attacked, wild with rage. The man had already lost, falling prey to Nakeri’s cunning. Nakeri guessed the spear might be poisoned, but it did not matter. This man struck with anger, not skill. His power meant nothing to Nakeri-Haresh.  
  
Kicking dust up at the tribesman’s face, Nakeri used the heartbeat of hesitation to parry the spear point with his knife. With less than a simple twist, the spear turned wide of its mark and Nakeri punched the warrior in the neck. Grabbing the gasping warrior’s hair, Nakeri held his knife high and spoke to Ookukush.

“Ookukush-Ponult, Nakeri-Haresh offers this life for striking you.”

The crowd waited tensely, scowling faces speaking for their shame that one of their warriors could not best a youngling outsider. The shaman let several heavy moments pass in the camp before responding. Nakeri’s opponent gagged softly, struggling for breath.

“Nakeri-Haresh, Ookukush-Ponult hears you and accepts your gift.”

“Then Nakeri-Haresh asks the gift of Shoji’s mercy to her pack.”

“What is this? Nakeri-Haresh asks gifts of the Shou’Hoji?”

“The strength of the pack is life. This is the wisdom of the Shoji-Shou.” Nakeri’s face was calm, but every fiber of his body waited for death to descend from every direction. His prisoner grew quiet, drawing slow breaths and waiting for his own doom to fall.

“Who speaks for the Shoji-Shou, tribe unknown to me?” Ookukush’s voice was stern, tinted with curiosity at Nakeri’s invocation of the Great Wolf Mother’s name.

“Nakeri-Haresh.”

“Your words carry power, Nakeri-Haresh. Ookukush-Ponult gives you Shoji’s mercy. I will hear you.”

…

In Ookukush’s tent, Nakeri told his tale. The bested warrior sat behind him as Nakeri spoke the words. He spoke of waking from the madness of the ritual poison, and the trial of a fox’s cunning and the foreign tribe whose shaman lied to its people. His words carried the tale back over the cold plains and into the heat of battle with the slavers and the beast-man he took for a god. The story spun the words around his dying by the morning light and the god who cam to him there. With almost dreamlike word-phrases he described the following moons and how she mended his body and mind, of the meeting of two gods and the words he didn’t know. Then he told of the night Kaou’na taught him the ways of men and women, and the cold morning he woke alone, the beast-tribe that waited for him and the duel. Rising to his feet, Nakeri spoke word and body of his spirit pack, the great wolf and his parting of ways. He described Tehontonta-Shoji, who now waited outside the camp, and of his brother’s choice. When he finished, Ookukush stood and bowed to Nakeri.

“Brother Two-Tribes, Nakeri-Haresh of the Shou’Hoji and Shoji-Shou, once-born and shaman.” Ookukush looked at Nakeri, staring hard into his eyes, and embraced him as a brother. “What shall we do with this gift between brothers, this gift of Shoji’s mercy?”

“He shall be as my flesh, my blood.” Nakeri said, looking at the warrior whose life held in the balance of their words. “The tribe remains strong, the pack is strong, and Shoji’s people are prosperous.”

“He is your son, once-born.” Ookukush stepped back and held his hand over the warrior’s head. “His Shou’Hoji name was Eshu’oa-Tohoté (Hand of the Falling Star by the New Moon), once-born of the Shou’Hoji.”

“He shall be once-born, Eshu’oa-Tohoté Two-Tribes, he shall be my brother and we will share the pack’s strength.”

“Nakeri-Haresh speaks Shoji’s wisdom.” Ookukush nodded sagely. “What do the Brothers Two-Tribes want of the Shou-Hoji?”

“We walk with two tribes, we walk between two tribes and the paths of the wild places are our own.” Nakeri answered, his voice cool yet defiant.

“Brothers Two-Tribes, you walk with the winds and bring tribute of strength and honor. With Shou’Hoji, Brothers Two-Tribes may walk among us.”

“Brother Ookukush-Ponult honors the Brothers Two-Tribes.”

…


End file.
